The moon is hanging in the sky, looking straight at ME through the top of a window. Actually, it seems to be staring and on my end of the view, it’s not like watching grass grow because frequent glances reveal it is sinking quickly. Soon it will no longer be visible and I will be left with a day wondering if it was a “sign”. Or will I forget about it and start concentrating on it being Trash Stomping Day?
Now, there’s a chore that hangs over my head every Wednesday. No, I’m not going into my “people who load as much air as trash into the bags” rant. But I will be thinking of them as I brace the bins against the garage wall, climb up on a ladder and – augh – stomp trash.
When Summer was younger, she used to get excited and bounce up and down, boasting, “Grandma’s letting me stomp trash!” She has since wised up. Drat.